


I Know You've Been Down So Long (So I'll Be Stronger For You)

by Lindajoskid



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindajoskid/pseuds/Lindajoskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy strikes closer than Santana ever imagined, can Rachel help her pick up the pieces?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Santana

_" **I lost my friend this morning, woke up screaming her name. She meant so much to me, I’m scared I won’t be the same.”** _

**_Big K.R.I.T-The Vent_ **

 

Brittany dies in a freak accident.

 At least that’s all Santana hears the day she comes home from an early shift at Coyote Ugly to find her mother in her loft, sitting on that disgusting fucking couch with Kurt and Rachel, their tearstained faces going pale when she walks in the door. 

Her mother stands slowly, Rachel and Kurt mutely following her lead.

 “Mom, what happened? Is it-“, she thinks its her Abuela,her insides curdling like cottage cheese. She sees Kurt and Rachel share a fearful glance, and Rachel carefully steps around her mother and walks slowly towards Santana. “Santana, you may want to sit down. It’s…”

 Rachel stops, glancing first at Kurt than to Santana’s mother for help. Santana’s mother walks slowly towards her, finally coming to a halt directly in front of her. Her dark eyes glitter with tears, and in that moment Santana knows what her mother is going to say before she even says it.

 "Mija, Brittany was in some kind of accident at her school…" Her mother’s voice fades away, leaving her ears to ring with the words _Brittany, accident, dead_. She stares mutely at her mothers mouth, wondering why she can see her lips moving but hear no sound coming out. She looks over to Kurt and Rachel, who share similar expresions of grief and sympathy. 

"Santana?", she hears, her ears finally discovering sound again. She hears her name a second time, and when she looks around, she is somehow sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest, rocking steadily back and forth. She finally snaps when she hears her name a third time. 

"Stop saying my name! I can hear you! Just…." she stops at that, still trying to figure out why she is on the floor, and whats for dinner and Brittany was _dead_ ……at thought her stomach heaved, and she quickly got to her feet and ran to the kitchen sink. She looked at the contents that came up from her stomach and vaguely recalls eating a hot dog before coming home. 

She feels a hand on her back, smoothing small circles and murmuring words she can’t understand. She turns her head to see Rachel, her own eyes rimmed with red, and her face blotchy with tears.

“Get your fucking hands off of me Hobbit”, she hisses, noting with numb satisfaction as Rachel’s hand recoils. She hears her mother’s sharp intake of breath at her sharp tone, and a part of her cringes to have her mom see her this way.

 "Mija, come sit down. Come on Santana, come sit down and take a breath." she hears her mother say, and then feels her physically grab her elbow and lead her to the couch.

Kurt is sitting back down, staring at a text on his phone, tears streaming down his face. She wondered why he was crying, why was her mother there, why Rachel was there, Her mind was playing a game on her, this was a dream, no a nightmare she was going to wake up from. Thats all this was, a nightmare, a sick joke. Brittany was at MIT being the genius Santana always knew her to be. So Santana sits on that couch with Kurt, willing herself to wake up.     


	2. Quinn

 

_“ **How can the devil take my brother if he’s close to me?**_   
**_When he was everything I wasn’t, but I hoped to be?”_**   
**_Big K.R.I.T- The Vent_**

 

Quinn walks into the loft, her face drawn, her posture rigid, hugging Rachel for a long moment at the door. Fighting the tears in her throat, she then hugs Santana’s mother tightly. Santana sits in the middle of the couch, her face devoid of any emotion, her body motionless as Kurt speaks on his phone quietly beside her.

Quinn lowers herself gingerly beside Santana, not daring to touch her. Kurt ends his call, his eyes landing immediately on his old friend.“Hey Quinn,” he says softly, stepping around Santana and leaning down to give Quinn a tight hug. “How are you holding up?” he whispers into her ear.

She doesn’t know how to respond, so she shrugs against his shoulder, swallowing thickly. He pulls away slowly, his eyes searching her own. He clucks softly, giving her a watery smile before looking over to Santana, who has remains silent.  
"She hasn’t said a word since her mom told her about Brittany." He says softly. "She threw up, called Rachel a hobbit and hasn’t spoken since. Or moved. Maybe having you here…." He pauses, seemingly unable to finish the sentence. Quinn glanced at her friend, trying to figure out what move to make. She reaches out slowly, putting her hand on Santana’s shoulder and saying her name softly. Santana remains silent, her only movement her eyes blinking steadily.

 Quinn is at a loss. She and Santana were never as close as Brittany and Santana, and nowhere near as affectionate. They have been at each others throats, and for half a minute lovers at Mr. Shue’s almost wedding. She doesn’t know how to console this silent, unmoving person beside her.

 She’d been in an early class when her phone had suddenly started ringing, Puck’s name flashing across her screen. Thinking something had happened to Beth, she had rushed out of the lecture, taking the call in the quiet hallway.

“Is Beth okay, Puck?” she asked breathlessly.

“It’s not Beth, Quinn,” he said, his voice quiet and slightly muffled.

“Then why the he-“ she started, aggravated he called her during class if it wasn’t about Beth.

“Brittany’s dead,” he whispered, so low she thought maybe she misheard.

“What the fuck are you talking about Puckerman?” she growled, “Is this some sick joke?”

When he didn’t answer with laughter or some smug answer, she knew it was true. All of a sudden she felt lightheaded, and she slid down the wall that she had been leaning against.

“When?” she asked, closing her eyes and taking in deep breaths.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, and she could hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. She realized he was crying, or trying not to, and that made her grip her phone tighter.

“Last night,” he finally answered, his voice shaky. “Santana’s mom-“

At the mention of Santana’s name, Quinn scrambled to her feet, all thoughts of her lecture and school forgotten.

 “She doesn’t know?” she asked, her voice trembling. She didn’t wait for a response, grabbing her backpack and beginning to sprint towards her dorm. “I have to go Noah, I have to go be with Santana.”

She’d caught the first train out of New Haven, fighting and losing against the silent tears that slid down her otherwise stoic face. When she’d arrived at the loft her friends shared, she told herself she needed to be strong for Santana, that Santana needed her to be strong, if only for a while.

 They have to fly back to Lima for the funeral, which Quinn still can’t believe is happening. Not even with Rachel on her right, and Santana between them on the plane.

Glancing now at the girl sitting next to her on the plane, she wonders now if her strength is going to be enough. Santana hasn’t said one word to since Quinn arrived, just moved as if she were sleepwalking, and staring off into space when she was sitting down. Quinn sighs, and places her hand atop Santana’s.

She doesn’t know how, but she knows no matter what, she is going to be strong. For both of them.


	3. Santana

_**“ I put my problems in a box** _   
**_beside my tightest rhymes._ **   
**_On a lock and key, buried deep_ **   
**_Inside my mind._ **   
**_And when it gets too full_ **   
**_And I can’t close the lid_ **   
**_I spaz on my family_ **   
**_And closest friends”_ **

**_Big K.R.I.T, The Vent_ **

 

Santana doesn’t remember much from the funeral, except that it was closed casket, and that Rachel clutched her hand the entire time as if she might run away.

She knows Quinn was also beside her, her face not moving, except for her jaw clenching at different points in the service. She knows that they sat with the glee kids, and that Sam made a lame speech about how special Brittany was, as if he had loved her his entire life, and not for not quite a whole school year.

She’d seen the Pierces in the front of the church, three blonde heads bowed down, arms tightly wound around each other. She had wanted to go and say something, anything to them, beg them to tell her that Brittany was pulling a huge prank. She couldn’t move though, her legs refusing to respond her mind’s feeble commands.

When they had arrived back in Lima, her mother had taken her and Quinn straight to her house while Rachel had gone to her fathers’ home, promising to come back in the morning to ride with them for the service.

Stepping over the threshold of her childhood room, Santana was assaulted with all of the photos she had taken with Brittany over the years, the last photos being the last summer Santana spent in Lima before leaving for Kentucky. She stared at the pictures and remembered too short a summer spent hiding away from the rest of the world, while trying to spend as much time together as possible.

“She really missed you when you left for Kentucky, you know.” Quinn said, breaking Santana out of her thoughts. She spun around, keeping silent as Quinn stepped beside her, looking at the pictures on the wall.

“She was pretty good at hiding it from everybody, but it killed her a little bit I think.” Quinn turned to face her, eyes searching her features. Santana stayed silent, not trusting herself to speak, staring back at her friend. “I know this is hard for you Santana, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m here for you, okay? I know I can speak for everyone else when I say they are too.” Quinn stopped, her voice beginning to break on the last sentence. Santana cleared her throat, reaching out to grab Quinn’s hand tightly in her own. Both girls stood there in silence for a few moments, until Santana’s mother asking them if they were hungry broke the spell.

All the glee kids are now sitting around Rachel’s dads’ basement, not saying much of anything while stealing anxious glances at Santana. She still hasn’t said more than two words to anyone, or even cried. She knows her friends are all worried, but she still can’t believe that this is really happening, and saying anything would make it real. She isn’t ready to deal quite yet, and so she sits in Rachel’s dads’ basement, silent.

Puck, of course, is the first one to speak, breaking the thick silence pervading the room. “Dude, I can’t sit here and be all sad. This totally blows, man. I don’t think Brittany would want us sitting here crying. This is totally lame.” He looks around the room, listening to the quiet murmurs of agreement. Santana bristles at his tone, her anger flaring hot and fast.

“So you think throwing a party would be what she’d want Puck? Enlighten us all to what Brittany would want, because I for one would _love_ to know since you seem to."

She looks around the room, seeing the look of shock on everyone’s face at her tone.

 Puck’s face, already pale, pales further at her angry tone. “I just…she was always happy you know? Like, she wouldn’t want us to just like…sit around and shit, Santana.” He stops, swallowing audibly at the look of anger Santana sends him.

She feels herself standing, walking slowly towards Puck and standing over him, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. “You don’t know _shit_ about what Brittany would have wanted, Puckerman.” Her eyes sweep the room, seeing all of her friends sad faces, their pity. “None of you knew her like I did, loved her like I did.”

Her eyes land on Sam when she says that, meeting his in challenge until he drops her gaze. She can feel her rage, hot and heavy thrumming through her. Her gaze drops back to Puck, who is silently staring ahead, his jaw clenched tightly.

No one says anything for a long moment, until Rachel clears her throat and stands, slowly coming to stand beside Santana.

“I think what Noah means is that maybe we can find a way to celebrate her life, Santana. Perhaps we can have a few other of the people she knew over to-“

She stops midsentence, as if not sure not sure on how to continue.

“To what, Rachel, talk about how she repeated her senior year, how stupid she was, how I couldn’t stay with her because I was afraid? Oh yes, let’s celebrate that, I’m sure that will be a blast.”

Santana can see the hurt on Rachel’s face, feel the sadness in the room, but can’t seem to stop the angry words flowing from her mouth.

“That’s so much to celebrate, right guys?” She says this facing the room, her mouth twisted with anger. “Better yet, let’s sing it out, with Berry singing some sappy ass song about-“

_“Santana.”_ Quinn’s voice, quiet and authoritative, stops her in her tracks, her eyes snapping to her friend who is standing mere inches from her. She swallows hard, her anger leaving her as quickly as it had come, leaving a void in her chest.  
She can once again feel tears in her throat, threatening to force themselves out of her, and she pushes them down, as far down as she can. She again stares at the faces of her friends, seeing as much pain as she was feeling reflected in their gazes.

“Do whatever you want ” She mutters, turning around and heading for the stairs.  
“I need some air.”

As she walks up the stairs, she hears quiet footsteps fall in behind her, following her as she heads to the front door and to the Berry’s porch. Stepping outside, she takes a breath of the cool air, wishing she had a cigarette to ease the emotions she could feel swirling inside of her. Without having to look, she knows Rachel is standing beside her, the other girl quietly observing her.

“Stop looking at me like that.” She mutters, turning her head to meet the other girl’s gaze, stormy brown eyes meeting Rachel’s sad gaze.

Rachel opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, shutting it abruptly at the look on Santana’s face. Santana turns her gaze once more, looking across the Berry’s lawn to the street beyond.

“We were supposed to get out of Lima together, you know? Graduate and just...go. Britt was gonna try to get into film school, and I was gonna, I don’t know, get a job to put her through it.”

She pauses, once again feeling the unshed tears in her throat. She swallows them down, willing herself not to cry in front of Rachel.

“But then she didn’t graduate, and I went to Louisville and broke up with her…”

Silence once again envelops the two girls, each lost in their own thoughts. Santana can feel Rachel take a deep breath, and closes her eyes in preparation for a rant that never comes. Rachel’s voice, uncharacteristically low, has her opening her eyes in surprise.

“I’m going to miss her, her and her never ending assortment of hats, the way I could not, for the life of me, understand what she sometimes was talking about. And her dancing…no one in Glee could dance the way she could. She just had this energy that no one else had, and I’m going to miss that.”

At that, Rachel stops, turning to face Santana fully.

“And if I miss her, I can only imagine everyone else does also Santana.”

Santana could feel herself start to bristle at Rachel’s tone, wanting to tell her that no one would miss her in the way she would. But Rachel’s solemn expression stops her.

“Noah needs a way to deal with losing her, Santana, we all do. And though I abhor the idea of a mass of intoxicated teenagers in my home because of what happened the last time we imbibed, I am willing to sacrifice my comfort. So let them have this…gathering in the form of intoxicated people in my home Santana.”

For a brief moment, Santana wants to laugh, because _none_ of those people, save for herself and Quinn, gave two cents about Brittany. Mercedes maybe cared, but no one else. Staring into Rachel’s eyes, Santana can’t help but to recall how everyone at McKinley saw Brittany, not as a genius, but as some dumb blonde cheerleader who repeated her senior year.

“Sure Rachel, let them be sad over someone they didn’t care about, let some jock talk about with her, let Trouty Mouth tell everyone how he got her to eat Cheerios off the fucking floor. No one thought about Brittany, Rachel. Not Schuester, not Coach Sylvester, no one. If they had cared, she would’ve graduated and we would have been out of this town, together. She’d be alive and we would be together like we planned.”

Santana can feel the tears she hasn’t yet cried surfacing, and she clenches her fists tightly, digging her nails into her palms. She doesn’t want them to have _any_ piece of Brittany, because she knows they don’t deserve it, they didn’t deserve her.

Rachel exhales slowly, turning away from Santana and looking back out across her lawn.

“I guess I can see your point, Santana. It would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it?” She stays silent for a beat, then: “She was, however loved.”

Santana feels her control begin to break, and prays to God that Rachel isn’t around to witness it. She doesn’t think she is prepared to crack in front of Rachel, of anyone in fact. Apparently God doesn’t hear her silent pleas because the first sobs break through, with Rachel turning to her in alarm. She feels herself begin to break, sliding to the cold concrete of the porch, Rachel’s arms wound tightly around her.She hears a loud wailing, and wonders where the sirens are coming from, belatedly realizing the wailing was her, and wondering when, if ever, the pain from losing Brittany willever end.


	4. Rachel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter for you guys. i'd really like to thank everyone who has liked and followed this story. i will try to get the next chapter out a little sooner for everyone. Special thanks to my beta, Mad-Cow-Mama for her never ending patience and support.  
> Also a shoutout to my writing buddy Everythreewords who cheerleads and will talk for hours with me about this verse. Lyrics used are from Miranda Lambert's song, Virginia Bluebell.

**_“I know you’re waiting for the worst that_ **

**_you can get from me._ **

**_Just treat me good and baby I’ll give you_ **

**_the rest of me._ **

**_I’m not the one you that should_ **

**_be making your enemy_ **

**_I’m not the one that you should_ **

**_be making your enemy.”_ **

 

_**Solange, Losing You**_

A few days after the funeral, Rachel, Santana and Kurt have returned to New York and are attempting to get back into their routine. Rachel and Santana never speak of Santana’s breakdown on the porch, but Rachel can feel the spectre of it whenever she is with Santana. Before they left Lima, Quinn had pulled Rachel aside, hazel eyes searching brown with an intensity Rachel had never experienced from the other girl.

 “Take care of her, Rachel, okay? Just...she’s going to need somebody to watch out for her with Britt being gone. Promise me, Rachel.” Quinn stopped, her eyes boring into Rachel’s. Rachel nodded, her face solemn.

 “I promise, Quinn.” She knew there’s more to Quinn’s request than she was saying, and she also knew Quinn wasn’t going to share. She had grown accustomed to Quinn’s moods, and she knew when it came to Santana and Brittany, Quinn was very protective.

 Being back in New York so soon after Brittany’s funeral is surreal, to say the least. In Lima, it seemed as though time had slowed down, and that everyone was walking around in a grief-induced haze. In New York, it is business as usual, with overcrowded streets and subways. When she gets back to her classes, her professors, even Cassandra July, are sympathetic. For the first few days of being back, she throws herself into catching up on her her workload. She doesn’t see Brody until two weeks after she’s home, and she sees Kurt and Santana less. Kurt is busy at his internship and juggling his new romance with Adam, and she knows Santana is still working nights at Coyote Ugly.

 Three weeks after the funeral, during her vocal class, that she remembers her promise to Quinn. She feels a surge of fear because she hasn’t kept her word.

She’s seen glimpses of Santana, as if the other girl were a ghost, silent and translucent, and not really there. Since Santana sleeps when Rachel and Kurt are out during the day, they haven’t had a chance to talk. When she finishes her class, she pulls out her cell phone and calls Kurt.

 “Thank you for calling Vogue, this is Kurt, how may I help you?’ Kurt sounds chipper, bringing a wide smile to her face as she imagines him sitting at his desk, happily doing what he loves.

 “Hey, it’s Rachel. How is your day going?” She asks, walking across the quad to her next class.

 “Oh my god, you will not _believe_ the beautiful men that have been in and out of here the last couple of hours, Rachel. They would put your boy toy to shame.”  Rachel laughs. Kurt and Santana’s dislike for Brody is the one thing they both agree on wholeheartedly.

 “Well, now I‘m jealous because that sounds positively delightful. Unfortunately, I have class with one Cassandra July in a few moments.” Kurt sighs sympathetically, knowing how much ire the instructor points her way.

 “You can always come work for Isabelle, you know. She would love to have you, Rachel.”

 She stops in front of the building where her next class is, leaning against the nearest wall and smiling at her friend’s offer.

 “You know that fashion is not my dream Kurt, no matter how hot the male models are. But thank you for the offer, I’ll keep it in mind if Broadway doesn’t pan out.”

 Kurt sighs, and she can practically see him rolling his eyes. They both know she would never make it in the fashion world. She is destined for Broadway.

 “And anyway, that isn’t why I‘m calling you. I was calling to see if you had spoken to Santana recently, or even seen her. With my schedule I haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”

 Kurt lets out a breath, his voice lowering dramatically. “I don’t really know, she doesn’t say much. She comes in, eats a bowl of cereal and goes to the couch. Every time I try to talk to her, she just says she’s fine and tells me to mind my own business. So that’s all I get.”

 Rachel sighs, knowing Kurt is telling the truth, and that Santana would be closed off to any attempts to reach out to her. She remembers her fathers’ porch and how Santana swore her to secrecy.

 “Well, I believe she’s off tonight, so I was thinking we could stay in and just…I don’t know, hang around? Watch movies, perhaps?”

 “I don’t know, Rachel. I have a date with Adam tonight, and I don’t know how much of Santana I can take. I know she misses Brittany, but she isn’t the only person who does.”

 Rachel wants to argue, wants to defend Santana somehow but can’t risk telling Kurt how much pain she knows Santana is in. She swallows back a retort that is on the tip of her tongue, putting a fake smile on her face.

 “That’s fine, Kurt, we can just make it a girls’ night where we talk about…well, I don’t know exactly what we’ll talk about, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

 Kurt laughs, “I’m sure that will be fun, Rachel Berry talking to Santana Lopez without getting killed. I only wish I could see that.”

 Rachel snorts indignantly, rolling her eyes at Kurt’s notion that she and Santana couldn’t get along. “I’ll have you know, Kurt, Santana and I get along quite well, thank you very much.”

 Kurt laughs again, his voice teasing with slight mockery, “Well I must miss when that happens. Anyway, I hope you two have fun doing whatever is you are going to do. Make sure to call 911 if she tries--“

 Rachel hangs up on him mid-sentence, shaking her head when she receives a text from Kurt that simply says _Stay Alive_. She pushes off the wall and walks toward her class, pushing thoughts of Santana to the back of her mind and preparing for the onslaught of one Cassandra July.

 When she arrives at the loft later that evening, it’s dark except for the flickering light of the television screen. She closes the sliding door, walking into the semi-darkness toward the couch and sees Santana curled into a ball watching some reality show Rachel doesn’t know.

 “Hey,” she says, stopping beside the couch. “How are you?”

 Santana doesn’t respond, seeming to ignore Rachel’s presence entirely. Rachel turns her attention to the television, watching two women bicker over some trivial matter involving gossip.

 She turns her eyes back to Santana, trying once again to get a conversation going.

 “So I was thinking maybe we could have a girls night in, watch movies, eat popcorn…things that girls our age do. I tried to invite Kurt, however it seems he had prior plans with Ada--“

 “No.” Santana’s voice is quiet, lacking any venom or her usual sarcasm and biting words. “Just leave me alone, Rachel. Go play house with your boyfriend or sing show tunes at Call Backs. I don’t want to bond over lame chick flicks and talk about my feelings with you.”

 Rachel stares at Santana, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in her arms and comfort her in some way. She knows the Santana would reject any form of comfort, especially from her, but the part of Rachel that hurts for her wants to do just that.

 “Well we don’t have to _talk,_ Santana. I find talking during any movie to be distasteful and rather rude. I also find watching a _chick flick_ helps to bring my emotions to the surface in a healthy way.”

 Santana scoffs at her words, still staring at the TV screen as she speaks.

 “What part of what I just said is so hard for you to understand, Rachel? I’m not your  pet project you can try to ‘fix’ because we shared a moment back in Lima. A chick flick isn’t going to fucking fix me, or bring Brittany back. So just do me a favor and _leave me alone._ ”

 “Santana I under--“

 At those words Santana whips her body around to fully face Rachel, and Rachel sees dried tear tracks on her face, her eyes red-rimmed. She looks as though she hasn’t slept in days. Rachel can only imagine she hasn’t.

 “Whatever pop psychology crap is about to leave your huge mouth, I do not want to fucking hear. Brittany is _dead,_ Rachel. What, you think you and I are besties now because I cried in front of you? That this is some lifetime movie where I’ll just move on after you give me some bullshit speech about being strong? Do you even know how much this fucking _hurts_? I don’t sleep, because when I try to, all I can see is her face, hear her voice, and I can’t _breathe_. Do you have any idea what that fucking feels like? It feels like part of me is _gone._ So, no, you don’t understand anything.”

 She stops, her chest heaving as she fights to keep her emotions under control. Rachel reaches out to touch her, but Santana twists away and curls back on to the couch. Rachel can see her body start to shake with silent sobs, and she watches helplessly, knowing Santana doesn’t want her to witness this show of emotion. She turns to leave and give Santana the privacy she requested, when Quinn’s voice ghosts through her mind. _“Take care of her, Rachel.”_ At that, she turns back around and stares at her friend on the couch. Quietly, so as not to disturb her, she walks to the other end and gingerly sits down. She doesn’t speak or acknowledge Santana, instead staring resolutely at the TV.

 Santana continues to sob, her body silently shaking. She doesn’t tell Rachel to leave, so she doesn’t. Rachel doesn’t know how long she sits by Santana’s side, only that one show has gone off and another has come on. She glances over to Santana, who has stopped sobbing and is staring at the screen, tears still falling from her eyes. Rachel turns her attention back to the screen, and sits in silence with her.

 When Kurt asks her the next day how she managed to stay alive, she smiles brightly and gives a vague reference to the joys of reality television. He quirks his eyebrow at that, but takes her answer in stride and begins to talk about the latest Vogue gossip.

 On Santana’s next day off, Rachel’s home early, her afternoon classes having been cancelled. There’s still a fair amount of daylight when she lets herself into the loft, giving her a view of Santana once again huddled on the couch, sobbing. The TV is on, this time to a cooking show where Gordon Ramsay is yelling at some poor fool for burning rice.

 “Santana.” She said softly, walking toward her. Santana doesn’t answer, just huddles deeper into herself, as if trying to disappear. Rachel tentatively sits down beside her, aching to comfort her, but at a loss as how to do so.

 She wracks her brain, trying to think of the least invasive way to comfort Santana, and coming up blank. She glances around the room, her eyes falling on a songbook across the room. She smiles then, realizing the perfect solution for her problem. She thinks for a moment, her mind finally settling on a song she had heard earlier in the week.

 

_“Carrying the weight on the end of a limb, you’re just waiting for somebody to pick you up again._

_Shaded by a tree, can’t live up to a rose. All you ever wanted was a sunny place to grow._

_Pretty little thing, sometimes you gotta look up_

_And let the world see all the beauty that you’re made of_

_Cause the way you hang your head nobody can tell_

_You’re my Virginia Bluebell.”_

She sings the lyrics softly to Santana, watching her sobs lessen, and her breathing begins to even out. Neither one breaks the silence after Rachel’s impromptu song.

 When Santana finally speaks, Rachel jumps slightly, having gotten used to the silence that had fallen.

 “We had this plan, you know? We were gonna graduate McKinley and then go to California, or here. Britt was gonna dance and I was gonna go to school or something. We were going to go the minute after graduation, pack our shit and go. But then Brittany didn’t graduate and I broke up with her and left Louisville…”

 Rachel waits for Santana to continue, clamping down on whatever words want to come out of her mouth, knowing she’s seeing a side of Santana she has never been privy to.

 “I just thought I’d have more time, you know? Like her getting into MIT was going to be our shot, we could start all over. No Wheels, no Trouty Mouth. Just us trying to work our shit out. And now we can’t, because she’s dead and I’m stuck here, angry at her for fucking _leaving_ me.”

 She turns to face Rachel, her face wet with tears her, eyes full of pain and anger. Rachel opens her mouth to speak, to say something comforting, something to help the obvious pain Santana is going through, but finds no words come. She realizes she has no answers, that nothing she can possibly say will ease this pain for her friend. So she stares into Santana’s eyes instead, willing silent strength to the other girl.

 “When you keep your mouth closed, you’re not so bad Berry.”

 Rachel blinked, trying to make sure she heard correctly. “I--what? Santana I find that to be highly inappropriate at this moment! We were…having a moment! You can’t just say something like that!”

 Santana shrugs, bringing her hand up to wipe at her eyes and pulling out a tissue from under her blanket. “Well, moments over, I guess. And you didn’t even need a chick flick for it, either.” She attempts a small smile, her eyes still sad, but now guarded behind her sarcasm.

 Rachel huffs in annoyance, flopping backwards onto the couch and staring silently at the ceiling. She knows this is Santana’s best defense, deployed when she’s vulnerable or hurt. She just feels like she had gotten so much closer to her, that maybe now Santana would let her in, let herself be comforted by her friend.

 “Hey, Rachel?” Santana’s voice, quiet in the stillness of the room, makes Rachel glance over to her, to find her staring down at her hands, which are currently shredding the tissue she is holding into small pieces.

 “Thank you, for like…everything. I just…I m-m-miss her.”

 At this she breaks back into sobs, and Rachel reacts without thinking, crossing the space separating them to gather Santana into her arms. She feels Santana stiffen and try to pull away, making her tighten her grip, all the while whispering soothing words. Santana finally relaxes, and allows Rachel to comfort her in the way she so desperately needs.

 They don’t talk about it afterwards, how Santana finally pulled herself from Rachel’s embrace to go to the bathroom, coming back with a scrubbed face and dry eyes, or how Rachel went to her room to change her tear-soaked shirt. When Rachel comes back from changing, Santana is once again watching some mindless reality show, and chuckling softly at someone’s antics

 “I find these shows to be a horrible influence, Santana, why don’t we-“

 “Oh stuff it, Barbra, and make us some of your disgusting vegan popcorn, okay? This shit is comedy gold and you know it.”

 Santana says all this without her usual bite, and Rachel takes her words with a small smile, making her way to the kitchen to make the popcorn. When Kurt gets home a few hours later, they are watching another cooking show where once again Gordon Ramsey seems to be yelling.

 Kurt looks between the two of them, perplexed as to how they are sitting in the same room together, watching a television show without arguing. Rachel can see he is wondering if he has wandered into the twilight zone, or if his two roommates have been taken over by pod people.

 “Ladies, how are you this evening?” he asks hesitantly, as if afraid to break the peacefulness of the room. He glances at the television, his eyebrows shooting up dramatically at what they are watching. He glances in Rachel’s direction, shocked that she is even watching without putting up a huge fight.

 “We were doing great until you walked in and started yammering, Ladylips. Gordon was ripping this guy a new one! Now we have to rewind it!” Santana glares at him angrily, Rachel watching with amusement.

 Kurt smiles slightly, as if happy to hear, at least for the moment, classic Santana. He sits down gingerly beside Rachel, stretching his legs out to get comfortable. Rachel smiles at him, happy that her two favorite people were in one place, and that for the moment, Santana doesn’t seem to be weighed down by sadness.

 “It’s actually entertaining to watch, especially when the contestants bicker amongst themselves. And Gordon Ramsey has a certain flair I can appreciate, if not downright enjoy.” Rachel says, glancing sideways at Santana. Kurt snorts at that, rolling his eyes dramatically.

 “Shut it Hummel. This is great shit, okay? It helps me when I want to throttle you-“

 Santana snickers at his horrified expression, her face breaking into a small smirk.

Rachel watched all of this, feeling as if at least for a moment, things are normal.

 “As much as I enjoy you two sniping at each other, I really would like to get back to the show. I believe an important part is coming up.” She says, getting their attention.

 They both stare at her in shock, almost as if she had grown two heads. She stares at the television, suppressing her laughter as her roommates both shake their heads, Santana grabbing the remote and rewinding the segment Kurt had walked in on all the while mumbling to herself about crazy roommates.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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